The Afterlife
by xXAwakenedSecretsXx
Summary: The unforgiving fires of Mount Doom have cleansed Middle Earth of The One Ring, and Sméagol of his corrupt conscience.
1. A Familiar Face

**Chapter One- A Familiar Face**

Blazing heat; his flesh burning, peeling, melting away along with the infernal trinket that claimed his life for a good five centuries. It was the only thing Sméagol could remember before losing consciousness. Though now the pain had ceased, and he found himself no longer falling. Instead he lay with his back against the ground, both eyes closed and a hand resting upon his stomach.

Within a matter of time he had awoken from unconsciousness and savored the tender warmth of the morning sun on his face. It wasn't scorching, but relaxing, rather. However, Sméagol wasn't quick to decipher where he was. Judging from the tranquility, it felt nothing at all like the dark surroundings of Mordor. In fact, everything seemed quite familiar, and… pleasant. Sméagol believed that even he himself felt a tad different, and more out of the norm than his usual self.

Birds and crickets chirped nearby, while the gentle murmuring of water was audible as well- but Sméagol refused to open his eyes. He wanted to stay put; to lay beneath the warm sun, upon soft terrain, without a care in the world. For once he felt his mind had finally been freed from the One Ring, and the torment it had brought him century after century. Replacing Gollum's wretched hisses were nothing but Sméagol's own carefree thoughts. Though, after a moment of resting beneath the sun's golden rays he figured a walk would do him well. After all, began to question where Master Frodo and his friend had gone.

Flicking his eyes open, Sméagol still as he studied his surroundings. Why does this place seem so familiar? He asked himself, furrowing his brows as he hoisted up from the ground with a grunt; oddly enough, the loincloth around his waist seemed to fit somewhat tighter than usual. As he started toward the sound of the water it took Sméagol a mere second to realize that he wasn't crawling on all four limbs. Instead, he found himself walking on two legs, the way any other normal being would. He also felt... taller than usual.

Still puzzled, Sméagol continued on his stroll. Yet when he had reached the nearest river and leaned over for a drink of water, he was in shock. What gazed back at him from the water's surface weren't the prying, green eyes of an emaciated creature, no. Instead, they were the softened blue ones of a gentle-faced being.

Pulling away from the water with a gasp Sméagol lifted both hands before him, staring down at his palms in awe. They no longer appeared to be pale and bony, but smooth and fair.

"How?" He whispered to himself, leaning forward in curiosity to study his reflection once again. As he did so, he raised his brows at the sight of the full head of copper curls he appeared to have.

Furrowing his brows, Sméagol lifted a hand to his head. He combed his fingers through the mane he had lost for the ring nearly five-hundred years ago, and it felt damn good to do so once again.

Just as Sméagol began to contemplate how odd this all was, someone tackled him to the ground without warning.

"No!" He cried. "Don't hurt me! Please, don't hurt me..." In an instant, his pleas were drowned out by the sound of laughter.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you bairn!" Sméagol's attacker cackled.

That voice... He thought. That laugh... It belonged to neither Frodo, nor Sam, and sounded much too jubilant to belong to anyone else Sméagol had encountered.

Reluctant to do so, he peered back over his shoulder only to stare into two emerald green eyes belonging to a rather stocky being with a sable mop of hair.

"Déagol..." He breathed, almost speechless as his heart skipped a beat.


	2. Forgiven

**Chapter Two- Forgiven**

Without a word, the thicker male burst out laughing, pulling Sméagol into a tight embrace.

"Sméagol!" He beamed, giving his brother a hearty pat on the shoulder while nearly squeezing him to death. Not knowing how to react Sméagol pulled away, falling backwards onto the ground with a grunt. "Sméagol, don't be foolish..." Déagol pouted.

"Foolish?" The lankier Stoor argued. "This is all a dream. You are all a dream!"

"A dream? Why is that?" Déagol asked, a mixed expression of curiosity and offense upon his face. Sighing as he stared blankly up at the trees, Sméagol sat still.

"You're dead, Déagol- you have been for nearly five centuries!" He exclaimed. Déagol heaved a sigh, shaking his head lightly as he gazed at his brother with a look of concern.

"You don't even understand, do you?" He asked, gesturing toward Sméagol. Eyes veering away from the trees, the lankier Stoor refocused himself on Déagol. "Why is it you are no longer the gnarled being you once were? Why is it you're Sméagol now, and Gollum no more?"

"It is a dream!"

"No, Sméagol- no… this is reality." Déagol argued. "This isn't Gladden Fields, dear brother. This is the afterlife."

After Déagol's statement the word "afterlife" struck Sméagol like the lash of a whip, cutting deep into his mind.

"Th- the afterlife?" His voice shook. "You're saying..."

"Yes, Sméagol." Déagol retorted in a gentle tone, a sullen smile playing at his lips. "You've lost your life to The Ring." There was a moment of silence between both Stoors before Sméagol began to sob, clasping a hand to his mouth as tears obscured his vision.

"Sméagol?" Déagol frowned, inching closer to rest a gentle hand upon his friend's lithe shoulder. "Brother, talk to me!" Sméagol only flinched away.

"I'm sorry, Déagol. I'm so sorry..." He choked.

"What for?"

"I don't know what made me do it, Déagol... it just happened so fast. The Ring, that vial trinket... it seduced me- I saw the same happening to you too, Déagol!" Sméagol's breathing hitched. "But the voices, see, they told me that I was the one The Ring had chosen... not you." All was quiet once again, as the thinner Stoor's voice tapered to a whisper.

Déagol pulled Sméagol towards him, wrapping the shorter male into a protective embrace and resting his chin upon his head.

"Well... the voices are gone now, aren't they?" Sméagol gave a small nod.

"I think so…" He muttered, closing both eyes as he rested his head upon Déagol's chest. Silence ensued, until Sméagol was the one to break it.

"Can you forgive me, Déagol?" He breathed, slowly pulling away from the embrace.

"For what?"

"Murdering you for a foolish little ring that granted me nothing but misery." Sméagol sighed.

"You're saying you didn't enjoy living for that many years?" Déagol half-joked, a brow raised curiously. Rather insulted, Sméagol looked at his brother as though he were insane.

"Déagol, not a bit of it I enjoyed." He said darkly. "You wouldn't fancy it either if you had to live in a cave for years and eat nothing but raw fish..."

"Ah- I suppose you're right." Déagol chuckled; his brother joined along before the laughter faded away.

"To answer you're question, Sméagol- yes, I forgive you." Déagol stated. "Listen to me now though, my brother- that ring was no foolish trinket. It was powerful... so powerful it lured you in like bait, turning your conscience rotten. You couldn't help it no matter how hard you fought, Sméagol." He explained.

"And I ended up falling into a pit of lava because of it..." Sméagol added blankly in a gloomy tone.

"Yes... but now it's all over, Sméagol." The stockier male whispered, gently resting a hand upon the small of Sméagol's back. "And where you are now, you'll always be safe."

"You promise?" Asked the thinner male, large blue eyes twinkling merrily as he peered up at his brother.

"I promise." There was another moment of silence, and both Stoors sat still as they listened to the river trickle by. However, it was Déagol who interrupted the peace.

"That doesn't look too comfortable, Sméag..." He chuckled, gesturing toward his friend's loincloth.

"Oh, this?" Sméagol laughed awkwardly, tugging at the hem of his cloth. "It's... a bit tight in the crotch, yes." Déagol couldn't help but burst out in laughter.

"Well, we can change that." He stated as he extended his hand out toward Sméagol, who took hold of it with a smirk. "And while we're at it, we'll get you some food- real food." The stocky male grunted as he hoisted his brother from the ground.

"Some cherries would be nice." Sméagol grinned, striding closely by Déagol's side as they made their way from the river.


End file.
